"------------------She alone
Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought,
Fills every sense, and pants in every vein.
Books are but formal dulness, tedious friends,
And sad amid the social band he sits,
Lonely and unattentive. From his tongue
The unfinished period falls, while, bore away
On swelling thoughts his wafted spirit flies
To the vain bosom of his distant fair."--THOMSON.
Howel was no stranger to the manner in which hours rolled away at the
cottage; he hovered round it, and seized every interval of Lord
Mortimer's absence to present himself before Amanda; his emotions
betrayed his feelings, and Amanda effected reserve towards him, in hopes
of suppressing his passion; a passion, she now began to think, when
hopeless, must be dreadful.
Howel was a prey to melancholy; but not for himself alone did he mourn;
fears for the safety and happiness of Amanda added to his dejection; he
dreaded that Lord Mortimer, perhaps, like too many of the fashionable
men, might make no scruple of availing himself of any advantage which
could be derived from a predilection in his favor.
He knew him, it is true, to be amiable; but in opposition to that, he
knew him to be volatile, and sometimes wild, and trembled for the
unsuspecting credulity of Amanda. "Though lost to me," exclaimed the
unhappy young man, "oh never, sweetest Amanda, mayest thou be lost to
thyself!"
He had received many proofs of esteem and friendship from Lord Mortimer;
he therefore studied how he might admonish without offending, and save
Amanda without injuring himself. It at last occurred to him that the
pulpit would be the surest way of effecting his wishes, where the
subject, addressed to all, might particularly strike one for whom it was
intended, without appearing as if designed for that purpose; and timely
convince him, if, indeed, he meditated any injurious design against
Amanda, of its flagrance.
On the following Sunday, as he expected, Lord Mortimer and Amanda
attended service; his lordship's pew was opposite the one she sat in,
and we fear his eyes too often wondered in that direction.
The youthful monitor at last ascended the pulpit; his text was from
Jeremiah, and to the following effect:--
"She weepeth sore in the night, and her tears are on her cheeks;
among all her lovers she hath none to comfort her; all her
friends have dealt treacherously with her, they are become her
enemies."
After a slight introduction, in which he regretted that the declension
of moral principles demanded such an exhortation as he was about to
give, he commenced his subject; he described a young female, adorned
with beauty and innocence, walking forward in the path of integrity,
which a virtuous education had early marked for her to take, and
rejoicing as she went with all around her; when, in the midst of
happiness, unexpected calamity suddenly surprised and precipitated her
from prosperity into the deepest distress: he described the benefits she
derived in this trying period from early implanted virtue and religion;
taught by them (he proceeded) the lovely mourner turns not to the world
for consolation--no, she looks up to her Creator for comfort, whose
supporting aid is so particularly promised to afflicted worth. Cheered
by them, she is able to exert her little talents of genius and taste,
and draw upon industry for her future support; her active virtues, he
thinks the best proof of submission she can give to the will of Heaven;
and in the laudable exertions she finds a conscious peace, which the
mere possession of fortune could never bestow. While thus employed, a
son of perfidy sees and marks her for his prey, because she is at once
lovely and helpless: her unsuspecting credulity lays her open to his
arts, and his blandishments by degrees allure her heart. The snare which
he has spread at last involves her; with the inconstancy of libertinism
he soon deserts her; and again is she plunged into distress. But mark
the difference of her first and second fall: conscience no longer lends
its opposing aid to stem her sorrow, despair instead of hope arises;
without one friend to soothe the pangs of death, one pitying soul to
whisper peace to her departing spirit; insulted, too, perhaps, by some
unfeeling being, whom want of similar temptations alone, perhaps, saved
from similar imprudences, she sinks an early victim to wretchedness.
Howel paused; the fulness of his heart mounted to his eyes, which
involuntarily turned and rested upon Amanda. Interested by his simple
and pathetic eloquence, she had risen, and leaned over the pew, her head
resting on her hand, and her eyes fastened on his face. Lord Mortimer
had also risen, and alternately gazed upon Howel and Amanda,
particularly watching the latter, to see how the subject would affect
her. He at last saw the tears trickling down her cheeks: the distresses
of her own situation, and the stratagems of Belgrave, made her, in some
respect, perceive a resemblance between herself and the picture Howel
had drawn. Lord Mortimer was unutterably affected by her tears, a faint
sickness seized him, he sunk upon the seat, and covered his face with
his handkerchief, to hide his emotion; but by the time service was over
it was pretty well dissipated: Amanda returned home, and his lordship
waited for Howel's coming out of church. "What the devil, Howel," said
he, "did you mean by giving us such an exhortation? Have you discovered
any affair going on between any of your rustic neighbors?" The parson
colored, but remained silent; Lord Mortimer rallied him a little more,
and then departed; but his gayety was only assumed.
On his first acquaintance with Amanda, in consequence of what he heard
from Mrs. Abergwilly, and observed himself, he had been tempted to think
she was involved in mystery: and what, but impropriety, he thought,
could occasion mystery. To see so young, so lovely, so elegant a
creature an inmate of a sequestered cottage, associating with people (in
manners at least) so infinitely beneath her; to see her trembling and
blushing, if a word was dropped that seemed tending to inquire into her
motives for retirement; all these circumstances, I say, considered,
naturally excited a suspicion injurious to her in the mind of Lord
Mortimer; and he was tempted to think some deviation from prudence had,
by depriving her of the favor of her friends, made her retire to
obscurity; and that she would not dislike an opportunity of emerging
from it, he could not help thinking. In consequence of these ideas, he
could not think himself very culpable in encouraging the wishes her
loveliness gave rise to; besides, he had some reason to suspect she
desired to inspire him with these wishes; for Mrs. Abergwilly told him
she had informed Mrs. Edwin of his arrival; an information he could not
doubt her having immediately communicated to Amanda; therefore her
continuing to come to the hall seemed as if she wished to throw herself
in his way. Mrs. Edwin had indeed been told of his arrival, but
concealed it from Amanda, that she should not be disappointed of going
to the hall, which she knew, if once informed of it, she would not go
to.
'Tis true, Lord Mortimer saw Amanda wore (at least) the semblance of
innocence: but this could not remove his suspicions, so often had he
seen it assumed to hide the artful stratagems of a depraved heart.
Ah! why will the lovely female, adorned with all that heaven and earth
can bestow to render her amiable, overleap the modesty of nature, and by
levity and boldness lose all pretensions to the esteem which would
otherwise be an involuntary tribute.
Nor is it herself alone she injures; she hurts each child of purity,
helps to point the sting of ridicule, and weave the web of art.
We shun the blazing sun, but court his tempered beams; the rose, which
glares upon the day, is never so much sought as the bud enwrapt in the
foliage; and, to use the expression of a late much-admired author, "The
retiring graces have ever been reckoned the most beautiful."
He had never heard the earl mention a person of the name of Dunford; and
he knew not, or rather suspected, little credit was to be given to her
assertion of an intimacy between them, particularly as he saw her,
whenever the subject was mentioned, shrinking from it in the greatest
confusion.
Her reserve he imputed to pretence; and flattering himself it would soon
wear off, determined for the present at least to humor her affectation.
With such ideas, such sentiments, had Lord Mortimer's first visits to
Amanda commenced: but they experienced an immediate change as the
decreasing reserve of her manners gave him greater and more frequent
opportunities of discovering her mental perfections; the strength of her
understanding, the justness of her remarks, the liveliness of her fancy,
above all, the purity which mingled in every sentiment, and the modesty
which accompanied every word, filled him with delight and amazement; his
doubts gradually lessened, and at last vanished, and with them every
design, which they alone had ever given rise to. Esteem was now united
to love, and real respect to admiration: in her society he only was
happy, and thought not, or rather would not suffer himself to think, on
the consequences of such an attachment. It might be said, he was
entranced in pleasure, from which Howel completely roused him, and made
him seriously ask his heart, what were his intentions relative to
Amanda. Of such views as he perceived Howel suspected him of harboring,
his conscience entirely acquitted him; yet so great were the obstacles
he knew in the way of an union between him and Amanda, that he almost
regretted (as every one does, who acts against their better judgment,)
that he had not fled at the first intimation of his danger. So truly
formidable indeed did these obstacles appear, that he at times resolved
to break with Amanda, if he could fix upon any plan for doing so,
without injuring his honor, after the great attention he had paid her.
Ere he came to any final determination, however, he resolved to try and
discover her real situation: if he even left her, it would be a
satisfaction to his heart to know whether his friendship could be
serviceable: and if an opposite measure was his plan, it could never be
put in execution without the desired information. He accordingly wrote
to his sister, Lady Araminta Dormer, who was then in the country with
Lord Cherbury, requesting she would inquire from his father whether he
knew a person of the name of Dunford; and if he did, what his situation
and family were. Lord Mortimer begged her ladyship not to mention the
inquiries being dictated by him, and promised at some future period to
explain the reason of them. He still continued his assiduities to
Amanda, and at the expected time received an answer to his letter; but
how was he shocked and alarmed, when informed, Lord Cherbury never knew
a person of the name of Dunford! His doubts began to revive; but before
he yielded entirely to them, he resolved to go to Amanda, and inquire
from her, in the most explicit terms, how, and at what time, her father
and the Earl had become acquainted; determined, if she answered him
without embarrassment, to mention to his sister whatever circumstances
she related, lest a forgetfulness of them alone had made the Earl deny
his knowledge of Dunford. Just as he was quitting the grove with this
intent, he espied Edwin and his wife coming down a cross-road from the
village, where they had been with poultry and vegetables. It instantly
occurred to him that these people, in the simplicity of their hearts,
might unfold the real situation of Amanda, and save him the painful
necessity of making inquiries, which she, perhaps, would not answer,
without his real motives for making them were assigned, which was what
he could not think of doing.
Instead, therefore, of proceeding, he stopped till they came up to him,
and then with the most engaging affability addressed them, inquiring
whether they had been successful in the disposal of their goods. They
answered bowing and curtseying, and he then insisted that, as they
appeared tired, they should repair to the hall, and rest themselves.
This was too great an honor to be refused; and they followed their noble
conductor, who hastened forward to order refreshment into a parlor for
them. The nurse, who in her own way was a cunning woman, instantly
suspected, from the great and uncommon attention of Lord Mortimer, that
he wanted to inquire into the situation of Amanda. As soon as she saw
him at some distance, "David," cried she, "as sure as eggs are eggs,"
(unpinning her white apron, and smoothing it nicely down as she spoke,)
"this young lort wants to have our company, that he may find out
something apout Miss Amanda. Ah, pless her pretty face, I thought how it
would be; but we must be as cunning as foxes, and not tell too much nor
too little, because if we told too much it would offend her, and she
would ask us how we got all our intelligence, and would not think us
over and above genteel, when she heard we had sifted Jemmy Hawthorn for
it, when he came down from London with her. All we must do is just to
drop some hints, as it were, of her situation, and then his lortship, to
be sure, will make his advantage of them, and ask her everything apout
herself, and then she will tell him of her own accord: so, David, mind
what you say, I charge you." "Ay, ay," cried David, "leave me alone;
I'll warrant you you'll always find an old soldier 'cute enough for
anypoty."
When they reached the hall, they were shown into a parlor, where Lord
Mortimer was expecting them: with difficulty he made them sit down at
the table, where meat and wine were laid out for them. After they had
partaken of them, Lord Mortimer began with asking Edwin some questions
about his farm (for he was a tenant on the Tudor estate), and whether
there was anything wanting to render it more comfortable. "No," Edwin
replied, with a low bow, thanking his honorable lordship for his
inquiry. Lord Mortimer spoke of his family. "Ay, Cot pless the poor
things," Edwin said, "they were, to be sure, a fine thriving set of
children." Still Lord Mortimer had not touched on the subject nearest
his heart. He felt embarrassed and agitated. At last, with as much
composure as he could assume, he asked how long they imagined Miss
Dunford would stay with them. Now was the nurse's time to speak. She had
hitherto sat simpering and bowing. "That depended on circumstances," she
said. "Poor tear young laty, though their little cottage was so obscure,
and so unlike anything she had before been accustomed to, she made
herself quite happy with it." "Her father must miss her society very
much," exclaimed Lord Mortimer. "Tear heart, to be sure he does," cried
nurse. "Well, strange things happen every tay; but still I never thought
what did happen would have happened, to make the poor old gentleman and
his daughter part." "What happened?" exclaimed Lord Mortimer, starting
and suddenly stopping in the middle of the room, for hitherto he had
been walking backwards and forwards. "'Twas not her business," the nurse
replied, "by no manner of means, to be speaking about the affairs of her
petters; put for all that she could not help saying, because, she
thought it a pity his lortship, who was so good and so affable, should
remain in ignorance of everything; that Miss Amanda was not what she
appeared to be; no, if the truth was told, not the person she passed for
at all; but, Lort, she would never forgive me," cried the nurse, "if
your lortship told her it was from me your lortship heard this. Poor
tear thing, she is very unwilling to have her situation known, though
she is not the first poty who has met with a pad man; and shame and
sorrow be upon him who tistrest herself and her father."
Lord Mortimer had heard enough: every doubt, every suspicion was
realized; and he was equally unable and unwilling to inquire further. It
was plain Amanda was unworthy of his esteem; and to inquire into the
circumstances which occasioned that unworthiness, would only have
tortured him. He rung the bell abruptly, and ordering Mrs. Abergwilly
to attend the Edwins, withdrew immediately to another room. Now there
was an opportunity for Lord Mortimer to break with Amanda, without the
smallest imputation on his honor. Did it give him pleasure? No: it
filled him with sorrow, disappointment, and anguish: the softness of her
manners, even more than the beauty of her person, had fascinated his
soul, and made him determine, if he found her worthy (of which indeed he
had then but little doubt) to cease not, till every obstacle which could
impede their union should be overcome. He was inspired with indignation
at the idea of the snare he imagined she had spread for him; thinking
her modesty all a pretext to draw him into making honorable proposals.
As she sunk in his esteem, her charms lessened in his fancy; and he
thought it would be a proper punishment for her, and a noble triumph
over himself, if he conquered, or at least resisted his passion, and
forsook her entirely. Full of this idea, and influenced by resentment
for her supposed deceit, he resolved, without longer delay, to fulfil
the purpose which had brought him into Wales, namely, visiting his
friend; but how frail is resolution and resentment when opposed to
tenderness! Without suffering himself to believe there was the least
abatement of either in his mind, he forbid the carriage, in a few
minutes after he had ordered it, merely, he persuaded himself, for the
purpose of yet more severely mortifying Amanda: as his continuing a
little longer in the neighborhood, without noticing her, might, perhaps,
convince her, she was not quite so fascinating as she believed herself
to be. From the time his residence at Tudor Hall was known, he had
received constant invitations from the surrounding families, which, on
Amanda's account, he uniformly declined. This he resolved should no
longer be the case: some, were yet unanswered, and these he meant to
accept, as means indeed of keeping him steady in his resolution of not
seeing her, and banishing her in some degree from his thoughts. But he
could not have fixed on worse methods than these for effecting either of
his purposes: the society he now mixed among was so different from that
he had lately been accustomed to, that he was continually employed in
drawing comparisons between them. He grew restless; his unhappiness
increased; and he at last felt, that if he desired to experience any
comfort, he must no longer absent himself from Amanda; and also that, if
she refused to accede to the only proposals now in his power to make
her, he would be miserable; so essential did he deem her society to his
happiness; so much was he attached from the softness and sweetness of
her manners. At the time he finally determined to see her again, he was
in a large party at a Welsh baronet's where he had dined; and on the
rack of impatience to put his determination in practice, he retired
early, and took the road to the cottage.
Poor Amanda, during this time, was a prey to disquietude: the first day
of Lord Mortimer's absence, she felt a little uneasiness, but strove to
dissipate it, by thinking business had detained him. The next morning
she remained entirely at home, every moment expecting to behold him; but
this expectation was totally destroyed, when from the outside room she
heard one of the nurse's sons tell of all the company he had met going
to Sir Lewis ap Shenkin's, and amongst the rest Lord Mortimer, whose
servants had told him, the day before their lord dined at Mr. Jones's,
where there was a deal of company, and a grand ball in the evening.
Amanda's heart almost died within her at these words; pleasure then, not
business, had prevented Lord Mortimer from coming to her; these
amusements which he had so often declared were tasteless to him, from
the superior delight he experienced in her society. Either he was
insincere in such expressions, or had now grown indifferent. She
condemned herself for ever having permitted his visits, or received his
assiduities; she reproached him for ever having paid those assiduities,
knowing, as he must, the insincerity or inconstancy of his nature. In
spite of wounded pride, tears of sorrow and disappointment burst from
her; and her only consolation was, that no one observed her. Her hours
passed heavily away; she could not attend to anything; and in the
evening walked out to indulge, in a lonely ramble, the dejection of her
heart: she turned from Tudor Hall, and took (without knowing it indeed)
the very road which led to the house where Lord Mortimer had dined. With
slow and pensive steps she pursued her way, regardless of all around
her, till an approaching footstep made her raise her eyes, and she
beheld, with equal surprise and confusion, the very object who was then
employing her thoughts. Obeying the impulse of pride, she hastily turned
away; till, recollecting that her precipitately avoiding him would at
once betray her sentiments, she paused to listen to his passionate
inquiries after her health; having answered them with involuntary
coldness, she again moved on; but her progress was soon stopped by Lord
Mortimer; snatching her hand, he insisted on knowing why she appeared so
desirous to avoid him. Amanda made no reply to this, but desired he
would let her go. "Never," he exclaimed, "till you wear another face to
me. Oh! did you know the pain I have suffered since last we met, you
would from pity, I am sure, treat me with less coldness." Amanda's heart
throbbed with sudden pleasure; but she soon silenced its emotion, by
reflecting that a declaration of uneasiness, at the very time he was
entering into gayety, had something too inconsistent in it to merit
credit. Hurt by supposing he wanted to impose on her, she made yet more
violent efforts to disengage her hand; but Lord Mortimer held it too
firmly for her to be successful; he saw she was offended, and it gave
him flattering ideas of the estimation in which he stood with her, since
to resent his neglect was the most convincing proof he could receive of
the value she set upon his attention. Without hurting her feelings by a
hint, that he believed the alteration in her manner occasioned his
absence, in indirect terms he apologized for it, saying what indeed was
partly true, that a letter lately received had so ruffled his mind he
was quite unfit for her society, and had therefore availed himself of
those hours of chagrin and uneasiness to accept invitations, which at
some time or other he must have done, to avoid giving offence; and by
acting as he had done, he reserved the precious moments of returning
tranquillity for her he adored. Ah! how readily do we receive any
apology, do we admit of any excuse, that comes from a beloved object!
Amanda felt as if a weight was suddenly removed from her heart; her eyes
were no longer bent to the earth, her cheek no longer pale; and a smile,
the smile of innocence and love, enlivened all her features. She seemed
suddenly to forget her hand was detained by Lord Mortimer, for no longer
did she attempt to free it; she suffered him gently to draw it within
his, and lead her to the favorite haunt in Tudor Grove.
Pleased, yet blushing and confused, she heard Lord Mortimer, with more
energy than he had ever yet expressed himself with, declare the pain he
suffered the days he saw her not. From his ardent, his passionate
expressions, what could the innocent Amanda infer, but that he intended,
by uniting his destiny to hers, to secure to himself a society he so
highly valued; what could she infer, but that he meant immediately to
speak in explicit terms? The idea was too pleasing to be received in
tranquillity, and her whole soul felt agitated. While they pursued their
way through Tudor Grove, the sky, which had been lowering the whole day,
became suddenly more darkened, and by its increasing gloom foretold an
approaching storm. Lord Mortimer no longer opposed Amanda's returning
home; but scarcely had they turned for that purpose, ere the vivid
lightning flashed across their path, and the thunder awfully
reverberated amongst the hills. The hall was much nearer than the
cottage, and Lord Mortimer, throwing his arm round Amanda's waist,
hurried her to it; but ere they reached the library, whose door was the
first they came to, the rain began pouring with violence. Lord Mortimer
snatched off Amanda's wet hat and cloak; the rest of her clothes were
quite dry; and immediately ordered tea and coffee, as she refused any
other refreshments: he dismissed the attendants, that he might, without
observation or restraint, enjoy her society. As she presided at the
tea-table, his eyes, with the fondest rapture, were fastened on her
face, which never had appeared more lovely; exercise had heightened the
pale tint of her cheek, over which her glossy hair curled in beautiful
disorder; the unusual glow gave a greater radiance to her eyes, whose
soft confusion denoted the pleasure she experienced from the attention
of Lord Mortimer. He restrained not, he could not restrain, the feelings
of his soul. "Oh, what happiness!" he exclaimed. "No wonder I found all
society tasteless, after having experienced yours. Where could I find
such softness, yet such sensibility; such sweetness, yet such animation;
such beauty, yet such apparent unconsciousness of it? Oh, my Amanda,
smoothly must that life glide on, whose destiny you shall share!"
Amanda endeavored to check these transports, yet secretly they filled
her with delight, for she considered them as the sincere effusions of
honorable love. Present happiness, however, could not render her
forgetful of propriety: by the time tea was over, the evening began to
clear, and she protested she must depart. Lord Mortimer protested
against this for some time longer, and at last brought her to the
window, to convince her there was still a slight rain falling. He
promised to see her home as soon as it was over, and entreated, in the
mean time, she would gratify him with a song. Amanda did not refuse; but
the raptures he expressed, while she sung, she thought too violent, and
rose from the piano when she had concluded, in spite of his entreaties
to the contrary. She insisted on getting her hat and cloak, which had
been sent to Mrs. Abergwilly to dry: Lord Mortimer at last reluctantly
went out to obey her.
Amanda walked to the window: the prospect from it was lovely; the
evening was now perfectly serene; a few light clouds alone floated in
the sky, their lucid skirts tinged with purple rays from the declining
sun; the trees wore a brighter green, and the dewdrop that had
heightened their verdure, yet glittered on their sprays; across a
distant valley was extended a beautiful rainbow, the sacred record of
Heaven's covenant with man. All nature appeared revived and animated;
the birds now warbled their closing lays, and the bleating of the cattle
was heard from the neighboring hills. "Oh! how sweet, how lovely is the
dewy landscape!" exclaimed Amanda, with that delight which scenes of
calm and vernal nature never fail of raising in minds of piety and
tenderness.
"'Tis lovely, indeed!" repeated Lord Mortimer, who returned at the
moment, assuring her the things would be sent in directly. "I admire the
prospect," continued he, "because you gaze upon it with me; were you
absent, like every other charm, it would lose its beauty, and become
tasteless to me. Tell me," cried he, gently encircling her waist, "why
this hurry, why this wish to leave me? Do you expect elsewhere to meet
with a being who will value your society more highly than I do? Do you
expect to meet with a heart more fondly, more firmly attached to you
than mine? Oh, my Amanda, if you do, how mistaken are such
expectations!"
Amanda blushed, and averted her head, unable to speak.
"Ah, why," continued he, pursuing her averted eyes with his, "should we
create uneasiness to ourselves, by again separating?"
Amanda looked up at these words with involuntary surprise in her
countenance. Lord Mortimer understood it: he saw she had hitherto
deluded herself with thinking his intentions towards her very different
from what they really were; to suffer her longer to deceive herself
would, he thought, be cruelty. Straining her to his beating heart, he
imprinted a kiss on her tremulous lips, and softly told her, that the
life, which without her would lose half its charms, should be devoted to
her service; and that his fortune, like his heart, should be in her
possession. Trembling while she struggled to free herself from his arms,
Amanda demanded what he meant: her manner somewhat surprised and
confused him; but recollecting this was the moment for explanation, he,
though with half-averted eyes, declared his hopes--his wishes and
intentions. Surprise--horror--and indignation, for a few minutes
overpowered Amanda; but suddenly recovering her scattered senses, with a
strength greater than she had ever before felt, she burst from him, and
attempted to rush from the room. Lord Mortimer caught hold of her.
"Whither are you going, Amanda?" exclaimed he, affrighted by her
manner.
"From the basest of men," cried she, struggling to disengage herself.
He shut the door, and forced her back to a chair: he was
shocked--amazed--and confounded by her looks: no art could have assumed
such a semblance of sorrow as she now wore; no feelings but those of the
most delicate nature, have expressed such emotion as she now betrayed:
the enlivening bloom of her cheeks was fled, and succeeded by a deadly
paleness; and her soft eyes, robbed of their lustre, were bent to the
ground with the deepest expression of woe. Lord Mortimer began to think
he had mistaken, if not her character, her disposition; and the idea of
having insulted either purity or penitence, was like a dagger to his
heart. "Oh, my love!" he exclaimed, laying his hand on her trembling
one, "what do you mean by departing so abruptly?"
"My meaning, my lord," cried she, rising and shaking his hand from hers,
"is now as obvious as your own--I seek, forever, to quit a man who,
under the appearance of delicate attention, meditated so base a scheme
against me. My credulity may have yielded you amusement, but it has
afforded you no triumph: the tenderness which I know you think, which I
shall not deny your having inspired me with, as it was excited by
imaginary virtues, so it vanished with the illusion which gave it birth;
what then was innocent, would now be guilty. Oh, heavens!" continued
Amanda, clasping her hands together in a sudden agony of tears, "is it
me, the helpless child of sorrow, Lord Mortimer sought as a victim to
illicit love! Is it the son of Lord Cherbury destined such a blow
against the unfortunate Fitzalan?"
Lord Mortimer started. "Fitzalan!" repeated he. "Oh! Amanda, why did you
conceal your real name? And what am I to infer from your having done
so?"
"What you please, my lord," cried she. "The opinion of a person I
despise can be of little consequence to me, yet," continued she, as if
suddenly recollecting herself, "that you have no plea for extenuating
your conduct, know that my name was concealed by the desire of my
father, who, involved in unexpected distress, wished me to adopt
another, till his affairs were settled."
"This concealment has undone me," exclaimed Lord Mortimer: "it has led
me into an error, I shall never cease repenting. Oh! Amanda, deign to
listen to the circumstances which occasioned this error; and you will
then, I am sure, think me at least less culpable than I now appear to
be; you will then, perhaps, allow me to make some atonement."
"No, my lord," cried Amanda, "willingly I will not allow myself to be
deceived: for without deceit, I am convinced you could mention no
circumstance which could possibly palliate your conduct, or what you so
gently term an error. Had I, my lord, by art or coquetry, sought to
attract your notice, your crime would have been palliated; but when you
pursued, I retired; and the knowledge of your being Lord Cherbury's son
first induced me to receive your visits. I suffered their continuance,
because I thought you amiable: sad mistake! Oh! cruel, ungenerous
Mortimer, how have you abused my unsuspecting confidence!"
As she ended these words, she moved towards the door. Awed by her
manner, confounded by her reproaches, tortured by remorse and half
offended at her refusing to hear his vindication, he no longer attempted
to prevent her quitting the apartment; he followed her, however, from
it. "What do you mean, my lord," asked she, "by coming after me?"
"I mean to see you safely home," replied he, in a tone of proud
sullenness.
"And is it Lord Mortimer," cried she, looking steadfastly in his face,
"pretends to see me safe?"
He stamped, struck his hand violently against his forehead, and
exclaimed, "I see--I see--I am despicable in your eyes; but, Amanda, I
cannot endure your reproaches. Pause for a few minutes, and you will
find I am not so deserving of them as you imagine."
She made no reply, but quickened her pace: within a few yards of the
cottage Lord Mortimer caught her, with a distracted air. "Amanda," said
he, "I cannot bear to part with you in this manner: you think me the
veriest villain on earth; you will drive me from your heart; I shall
become abhorrent to you."
"Most assuredly, my lord," replied she, in a solemn voice.
"Cannot compunction then extenuate my error?"
"'Tis not compunction, 'tis regret you feel, for finding your designs
unsuccessful."
"No: by all that is sacred, 'tis remorse for ever having meditated such
an injury. Yet I again repeat, if you listen to me, you will find I am
not so culpable as you believe. Oh! let me beseech you to do so; let me
hope that my life may be devoted to you alone, and that I may thus have
opportunities of apologizing for my conduct. Oh! dearest Amanda,"
kneeling before her, "drive me not from you in the hour of penitence."
"You plead in vain, my lord," cried she, breaking from him.
He started in an agony from the ground, and again seized her. "Is it
thus," he exclaimed, "with such unfeeling coldness I am abandoned by
Amanda? I will leave you, if you only say I am not detested by you; if
you only say the remembrance of the sweet hours we have spent together
will not become hateful to you."
He was pale and trembled; and a tear wet his cheek. Amanda's began to
flow: she averted her head, to hide her emotion; but he had perceived
it. "You weep, my Amanda," said he, "and you feel the influence of
pity!"
"No, no," cried she, in a voice scarcely articulate: "I will
acknowledge," continued she, "I believe you possessed of sensibility;
and an anticipation of the painful feelings it will excite on the
reflection of your conduct to me, now stops my further reproaches. Ah!
my lord, timely profit by mental correction, nor ever again encourage a
passion which virtue cannot sanction or reason justify."
"Thus spoke the angel;
And the grave rebuke, severe in youthful beauty
Added grace invincible."
Amanda darted from Lord Mortimer; and entering the cottage, hastily
closed the door. Her looks terrified the nurse, who was the only one of
the family up, and who, by means of one of her sons, had discovered that
Amanda had taken refuge from the thunder-storm in Tudor Hall.
Amanda had neither hat nor cloak on; her face was pale as death; her
hair, blown by the wind, and wet from the rain, hung dishevelled about
her; and to the inquiries of her nurse she could only answer by sobs and
tears. "Lack a tay," said the nurse, "what ails my sweet chilt?"
Relieved by tears, Amanda told her nurse she was not very well, and that
she had been reflecting on the great impropriety there was in receiving
Lord Mortimer's visits, whom she begged her nurse, if he came again, not
to admit.
The nurse shook her head, and said she supposed there had been some
quarrel between them; but if Lord Mortimer had done anything to vex her
tear chilt, she would make him pay for it. Amanda charged her never to
address him on such a subject; and having made her promise not to admit
him, she retired to her chamber faint, weary, and distressed. The
indignity offered her by Colonel Belgrave had insulted her purity and
offended her pride, but he had not wounded the softer feelings of her
soul; it was Mortimer alone had power to work them up to agony.
The charm which had soothed her sorrows was fled; and while she glowed
with keen resentment, she wept from disappointed tenderness. "Alas! my
father," she cried, "is this the secure retreat you fondly thought you
had discovered for me! Sad mistake! Less had I to dread from the
audacious front of vice, than the insidious form of virtue: delicacy
shrinking from one, immediately announced the danger; but innocence
inspired confidence in the other; and credulity, instead of suspicion,
occupied the mind. Am I doomed to be the victim of deception--and,
except thy honest tender heart, my father, find every other fraught with
deceit and treachery to me? Alas! if in the early season of youth,
perpetual perfidy makes us relinquish candor and hope, what charms can
the world retain? The soul sickening, recoils within itself, and no
longer startles at dissolution. Belgrave aimed at my peace--but Mortimer
alone had power to pierce 'the vital vulnerable heart.' Oh, Mortimer!
from you alone the blow is severe--you, who, in divine language I may
say were my guide, my companion, and my familiar friend."
Lord Mortimer was now a prey to all the pangs which an ingenuous mind,
oppressed with a consciousness of error, must ever feel: the most
implacable vengeance could not devise a greater punishment for him, than
his own thoughts inflicted; the empire of inordinate passion was
overthrown, and honor and reason regained their full and natural
ascendancy over them. When he reflected on the uniform appearance of
innocence Amanda had always worn, he wondered at his weakness in ever
having doubted its reality--at his audacity, in ever having insulted it;
when he reflected on her melancholy, he shuddered as if having
aggravated it. "Your sorrows, as well as purity, my Amanda," he cried,
"should have rendered you a sacred object to me."
A ray of consolation darted into his mind at the idea of prevailing on
her to listen to the circumstances which had led him into a conduct so
unworthy of her and himself; such an explanation, he trusted, would
regain her love and confidence, and make her accept, what he meant
immediately to offer--his hand: for pride and ambition could raise no
obstacles to oppose this design of reparation; his happiness depended on
its being accepted. Amanda was dearer to him than life, and hope could
sketch no prospect, in which she was not the foremost object. Impetuous
in his passions, the lapse of the hours was insupportably tedious; and
the idea of waiting till the morning to declare his penitence, his
intention, and again implore her forgiveness, filled him with agony; he
went up to the cottage, and laid his hand upon the latch; he hesitated;
even from the rustics he wished to conceal his shame and confusion. All
within and without the cottage was still; the moonbeams seemed to sleep
upon the thatch, and the trees were unagitated by a breeze.
"Happy rustics!" exclaimed Lord Mortimer. "Children of content and
undeviating integrity, sleep presses sweetly on your eyelids. My Amanda
too rests, for she is innocent."
He descended to the valley, and saw a light from her window: he advanced
within a few yards of it, and saw her plainly walk about with an
agitated air--her handkerchief raised to her eyes, as if she wept. His
feelings rose almost to frenzy at this sight, and he execrated himself
for being the occasion of her tears. The village clock struck one: good
heavens! how many hours must intervene ere he could kneel before the
lovely mourner, implore her soft voice to accord his pardon, and (as he
flattered himself would be the case), in the fulness of reconciliation,
press her to his throbbing heart, as the sweet partner of his future
days. The light was at last extinguished; but he could not rest, and
continued to wander about like a perturbed spirit till the day began to
dawn, and he saw some early peasants coming to their labors.